Consequences of Knowing the Truth
by Khashana
Summary: Jim knows he loves Spock. Spock knows he loves Jim. What's the problem? Spirk K/S slash


Warnings: M/M slash, don't like don't read.

Disclaimer: Gene Roddenberry created them. J.J. Abrams took them for a spin. I am only borrowing them and I will put them back when I am done.

Jim knew he loved Spock. The revelation had come easily, not as a shock. It was a simple thing, really. Jim was lying in Sickbay—again—as the result of an on-board battle with a bunch of Klingons that thought they could walk onto his ship and do as they pleased with the engines. The resulting explosions (Kirk knew the computer system better than anyone) and the out-and-out warfare going on simultaneously had injured about seven crew members badly and another eighteen superficially. Jim had a concussion, which, he insisted, was not reasonable grounds for keeping him in Sickbay, but Bones had insisted everyone stay put. Jim hadn't been much in the mood to argue properly, as his head hurt like the dickens. He lay on one of the biobeds not currently occupied by someone actually hurt, and tried not to fall asleep or pass out from the pain, since, he reasoned, if he did, Bones was going to shout at him about proper procedure for concussions, and make his headache worse. Still, he was considering risking it. He was exhausted, and he wasn't allowed pain medication of the sort that would actually put a dent in the pain without supervision. When his first officer showed up, Jim only closed his eyes and hoped Spock would go away.

"Captain, have you not yet been treated?"

Jim shushed him, waving a tired hand. "Concussion. Headache. Got to have Bones watch."

"You require Dr. McCoy to supervise you? I do not understand." He had, at least, lowered his voice to a whisper.

"For meds. Allergies."

"However, the doctor is currently preoccupied with surgery," Spock concluded. He stood there for a moment, then walked away. Jim was too tired and in too much pain to care why. He was, however, slightly surprised when Spock returned with a hypo.

"I have a reasonable familiarity with human physiology and also with Starfleet medical equipment," the half-Vulcan said, still in that soft voice. "I have spoken with the doctor, and he prescribed this for you. I will monitor your condition and head off any reactions that occur." And, far more gently than Bones, he carefully injected the contents of the hypo into Jim's neck.

"Spock…" Jim whispered.

"It is illogical for you to object, Captain. I came in order to render any service I could to the medical team, as they are underhanded to deal with such a magnitude of patients, and this is an acceptable use of my skills."

"Mad skills," agreed Jim as the meds kicked in. "That feels amazing. Of course, it's going to be doubly hard to not fall asleep now. I am so tired." He felt a yawn coming as he said it and laid a few fingers on his Adam's apple, suppressing the yawn before it could disturb his head.

"You are referring to the adverse reactions occasionally experienced by persons with head injuries who sleep?"

"Yup."

Spock was silent for a moment, Then he said, very hesitantly, "Captain, you are a highly emotional creature. However, you are, at this time, greatly exhausted. This has a tendency to dampen emotional response, does it not?"

"Too tired to care about anything? Yeah, that's me."

Another pause. "I believe that, if you are willing, simple skin-to-skin contact would allow me to monitor your mental state to the degree that I would be able to wake you if adverse reactions seemed likely."

Jim took a second to process this. "Are you telling me that I can sleep if I let you touch me? Why wouldn't I be willing?"

"I cannot guarantee what of your thoughts and feelings might pass to me through the contact," Spock explained.

"I'm past caring," Jim admitted, and turned his palm upright. "But you shouldn't have to."

"I am already required to remain here to monitor your condition, Captain. I see no reason why I should be troubled."

Vulcans don't touch, that's why, thought Jim, but he couldn't summon the energy to open his mouth to say it, and instead closed his eyes, which were going out of focus. He felt a hand, not take his own, but push his sleeve up slightly and encircle his wrist. As he allowed himself to sink into oblivion, a wave of love for the man sitting beside him engulfed him. Too tired to ponder it further, he instantly fell asleep.

Spock knew he loved Jim. It had come as a shock to him, though. Part of his mind was telling him he was more eager to touch Jim than he ought to be; the other part overruled the first by insisting that this course of action was entirely logical. It was true, that, had Jim not been so exhausted, he would have been less willing to touch him, since he could not remember the last time he had allowed skin-to-skin contact with a human. Well, that wasn't true. Nyota, twice during the Narada incident, had lent him her strength by opening her emotions to him in the most intimate way he knew, short of a mind meld—she had kissed him. He wondered now, illogically, whether Jim had understood a romantic nature to Nyota's gift. Nyota was an incredible woman, but neither of them wanted more than the friendship she offered. This, though, to skim the thoughts of a defenseless, sleeping Jim, was an entirely different matter from kissing Nyota, who was projecting those emotions, and, sometimes, lack thereof, which enabled him to focus on his job. Nyota had been controlling her true emotions, which Jim, especially in this state, was incapable. Even Nyota could only do it for short bursts, and she had a fascinating force of will for the task. Yet, Spock's complete preoccupation with his own motives distracted him so entirely that he was utterly unprepared for the love, pure, unashamed, unquestioning love, that flowed from Jim. Love that was directed toward him. If this astonished him, which it really should not have, because astonishment is a human emotion, and yet Vulcans did not lie, it did not do so half as much as did the answering feeling that rose from within him and met Jim's feelings in a pure song of joy. Spock finally understood the human idea of 'thanking one's lucky stars,' as he was grateful, though unsure of to whom or what, that Jim was nontelepathic and could not read the answer. At the very least, because it would surely have woken him up.

Dr. McCoy returned four hours and seven minutes later to find them in the same position. He looked over the readings on the chart, questioned Spock briefly, and took a few readings with his tricorder, finally pronouncing Jim out of the woods for both the pain meds and the concussion. Spock was now able to leave, and did so. He immediately returned to his room and began to meditate, something he had not dared to do while entrusted with Jim's body and mind. His focus, of course, was his shocking revelation that not only was his Captain in love with him, but that he was in love with his Captain. This took several hours of meditation to process. Finally, he had accepted his captain's feelings as natural and even beneficial; they were of the sort, he thought, where Jim would value his presence more without, at least for a while, requiring action. But there still remained the question of his own feelings. What would his father think? he kept wondering. What would his mother think? And that, that thought, brought to mind a conversation, held with his father, concerning his rage over his mother's death. Spock's eyes did not fly open. They opened slowly and sedately. He believed he knew what both his parents would say. There was, of course, the sure awkwardness that would come in discussing the matter with Jim, but Spock decided that there was a halfway decent chance (45.8%) that the opportunity would present itself.

Jim knew he loved Spock. Spock knew he loved Jim. So why were the two going out of their way to avoid each other in the following weeks?

For Jim, it was a fear of rejection, for when he woke, he found Spock gone, and he remembered what he'd felt and Spock's warning. He drew the obvious conclusion that he had ruined their friendship, and assigned Spock to gamma shift immediately to give him some space.

For Spock, it was confusion. Why was Jim doing this? Spock came up with the truth among his list of possibilities, but the fact remained that Jim was his Captain, and if his Captain wished to avoid him, then he had the right to do so. However, the more he thought about it, the more firmly he was convinced that to continue in this manner was illogical. He was First Officer, and he needed to be able to work with his Captain. So, one day, excusing himself a few minutes before the end of shift, Spock headed toward his Captain's quarters, hoping to catch him before Alpha shift.

Jim had been woken in what for him was the wee hours of the morning by an urgent comm.

The communications officer had been apologetic, but said the comm was class Theta. Jim stared at her, eyes bleary with sleep, trying to make sense of it. Class Theta were personal, nonbusiness comms that nevertheless warranted being woken up. Usually, they were reserved for a death in the family. Jim felt as though the world had stood still for a moment. Then,

"Patch it through, Lieutenant."

A familiar face appeared on the screen. Winona Kirk's. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. At least it wasn't her.

"Jim," said Winona, and her voice caught. "It's Sam." That was his mother, blunt and to the point.

"What is it, Mom?"

"He was in an accident, Jim. Some idiot wasn't paying attention and swerved into his lane. He's dead."

Jim was still. His mother was crying now, but he was just numb.

_I haven't told him I loved him,_ he thought. _I haven't spoken to him since he turned eighteen and left._ Then, _Sam. Big, protective Sam. An accident. A pointless accident._

"Mom," he said, his voice cracking. "I love you." She smiled humorlessly.

"Even though I got involved with a man who hit you? Even though I didn't see it until it was too late?"

"Nobody's perfect," he said. "You were lonely."

"I was weak without your father," she agreed. "But that's no excuse for abandoning my children."

"I forgive you," he whispered. She smiled again.

"Thank you, Jimmy. And you know that I love you, so much. You know how proud I am. Your father—your father is proud, too. I know it."

When they signed off, Jim tried to get back to sleep. Even an extra half-hour helped on shift. But he couldn't even keep his eyes closed. The walls seemed to be pressing in, whispering, _Sam's dead, Sam's dead, you never told him, you never found him, Sam's dead,_ until, half crazy with grief and guilt, he could stay there no longer. Jim opened his bedroom door and began to walk, then to run, nowhere in particular, just moving, trying to escape, to put out the horrible, horrible guilt.

It was in this way that he and Spock managed to run headlong into one another in an otherwise deserted corridor. Spock immediately put out his hands to steady Jim, gripping him by the shoulders. Jim was shaking.

"Captain," said Spock, then started again. "Jim. What is wrong?"

"My brother's dead," said Jim, "and I didn't tell him I loved him." And now he cried, now sobs shook his body. Spock pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together, and then kissing him gently on the lips. Jim jumped, and Spock backed away, letting go at once.

"I apologize," said Spock at once. "I was attempting to comfort you by lending you my emotions. In your distress, I did not remember that you are nontelepathic."

Jim's eyes were still overflowing.

"Maybe not," he choked, "but…Spock…it helps anyway." The half-Vulcan nodded and embraced the younger man again.

"This is not as illogical as you may think. You are, are you not, in love with me?"

Jim seemed to curl within himself, knees buckling. Spock followed him to the floor, continuing to hold him.

"Yes," Jim sobbed. "Yes. And I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Jim," said Spock gently. "Have you ever known me to forget relevant information such as the state of your telepathic abilities? You confuse my thought processes, Jim, in a most illogical manner, and I believe it is because I am also in love with you. And, Jim, there is nothing I want more than to comfort you, because I love you, and also because I understand. Will you return to my quarters with me?" Jim stared at him.

"You love me?" Spock chose to ignore the illogic of forcing him to repeat himself, and merely nodded. "And…you understand. Oh. Of course. You understand better than anyone. Spock…" Upon hearing that pitiful cry, Spock picked up his Captain and love, and bodily carried him to his own quarters, Jim sobbing into his neck, and deposited him on the bed, climbing in after him and kissing him again. Everything that Spock felt but never showed was poured into that kiss, the understanding and compassion and pure love. Jim kissed him back, as well as he could while still crying, until finally snuggling himself into Spock's chest and falling asleep there. Spock commed Alpha shift and told Mr. Sulu that Captain Kirk would not be present, and then fell asleep, still holding the man he loved.

Jim woke up slowly. Before opening his eyes, he noted a few things. 1. The temperature of the room seemed off. 2. There was someone holding him. 3. That someone smelled like…"Spock," said Jim, opening his eyes, and the evening's events rushed back to him. Spock was already awake and watching him. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then,

"All right, Spock, I gotta know," said Jim, "and don't go trying to make this easier on me, okay? Did you mean what you said? Or was all that just the most logical way of keeping your Captain functional? I'm not a telepath, so I have no clue what you're thinking now. It's a little unfair, actually."

"Will you permit me to show you, Jim?" asked Spock, releasing him with one hand and hovering his fingers over his Captain's psi points. Jim stared at him for a moment, and then nodded, almost imperceptibly. Spock lowered his fingers to Jim's skin and whispered something.

It was like nothing Jim could describe, even having experienced it before. Spock's emotions filled his head, and Jim saw that his Spock had just as much depth of emotion as older Spock, a fact he had occasionally doubted. Spock was amused by this, and also curious about Jim's previous mind meld with his other self. Spock wasn't supposed to know about that. But the universe wasn't ending, and it turned out Spock had met his older self as well. He had lied to Jim! But older Spock had a different way of putting it. Jim was highly amused by the realization that older Spock had basically admitted to learning deception from him. They must have been very good friends indeed in the other world, even better than here. They had had a lifetime to build it, after all. But they were never lovers. Was Jim sure? Yes, he had seen enough of older Spock's mind to be sure of that. It had only backed up his fear that Spock could never love him back. But all universes are not alike. And Spock most definitely loved Jim back. How was that possible? What about Uhura? That wasn't romance. Huh. Could have fooled Jim. Apparently Vulcans occasionally allow emotional transference, and lip contact was the easiest way to do it, something about more sensory receptors in the lips. That was what Spock had tried to do for Jim in the hallway. He was so focused on doing anything he could to help Jim he tried to take away the pain instinctively, without remembering that it didn't work for Jim. Spock really did love him. And the kissing after that had nothing to do with transference, and everything to do with that love. Spock was not letting Jim slip away too, as he had his own mother and most of his planet. And as Jim had let his brother slip away. The pain and the guilt that each felt roared up and threatened to overwhelm, but they sheltered together in the space between their minds and waited out the storm.

Jim found himself staring into Spock's eyes, still lying on the bed. There were no words to be spoken; all had been said in their minds. Instead, Jim leaned over and kissed Spock fiercely, and Spock kissed him back.

_Fin_


End file.
